


The Dragon

by coveredkoi (serenamaes)



Category: Peacemaker Kurogane
Genre: Anal Sex, Bathroom Sex, M/M, modernau
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-12-23 16:16:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11993394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenamaes/pseuds/coveredkoi
Summary: in one of his downward slumps, Souji decides to spend the night out with the Trio to a nightclub, where he meets Ryoma. Will this be a match made in heaven, or will Souji discover that he is looking for something bigger?





	The Dragon

Pulsing vibrations, and streaks of green light. Souji smiled, relaxing into the electric drums and danced away the pain. He leaned into the warm body behind him, and hoped that the others were still busy. Opening one eye, he saw that his troublesome friends were heading to the bar to talk up women and get more beer. 

Day-to-day life had become a bit harder to bear. The café was quiet, and it reminded him of the absences in his childhood. The new, warm body behind him gave him something to focus on. As the music wound its way through the crowd, the rhythm changed into waves and caresses. Soft touches under heavy beats. 

“We could get away from here, you know.” A voice, deep and foreign, audible over the music. Souji gasped as the man pulled his frail body closer. “I wouldn’t mind seeing how you dance in the dark.” 

A flush spread over Souji’s cheeks, and for a moment he could not remember if he’d had something to drink. His friends, drunk at the bar, wouldn’t notice if the two left. They were begging, for the third time, for another beer, despite being cut off just a little while earlier. 

A brush of lips on skin, and a grin. “What do you say?” The man’s voice, so clear in the thick atmosphere. Souji nodded, and whispered, “Show me the way.” 

. . . 

As the music faded and transformed into distant white noise, Souji took note of the stranger’s features. If the man hadn’t spoken so fluidly, he would have sworn he was a foreigner. The dreadlocks, heart shaped sunglasses on top of his head . . . was he half? A foreigner? An exchange student from New York? He tried not to think about it – aware how little the details mattered as they climbed the steps to a humble loft. 

The door opened and their mouths met. Sweet, clove tobacco flavored the man’s tongue. He pulled away slowly, “Too soon?” He laughed and flipped on the light. “If you want the tour, I’d be happy to show you around, but . . .” The studio style space came to life. Thai tapestries and Indian fabric decorated the walls, and suitcases were stacked into a neat wardrobe in the corner.

“No – I,” Souji reminded himself again that the details didn’t matter, but he was coming back to reality real quick. 

“You must be new at this.” The man grinned, taking off his tinted glasses, setting them on a small table. 

Souji blushed slightly. It had been awhile since anything like this had happened, but this situation was too much like a dream. “Tell me after.” 

“Tell you? Tell you what?”

“Your story.” Souji looked into the dark eyes. “I don’t want to think about that right now.” 

“Oh, you’re one of those. You want the stranger experience, right?” Before Souji could answer, their lips met again. This time with pressure. Souji leaned in to the kiss, gasping as he was pressed against a wall. 

He tried to speak, but the man kissed him harder; eager to provide the boy with all the delicious silence he craved. The friction between them was painful, palpable in every inching movement of their bodies. As they parted for breath, Souji looked into his eyes more closely. Despite the similarities in age and language, this man was so foreign. It was nothing the boy had ever experienced. Sensing his anxiety, the man spoke.

“Ryoma.” Lifting Souji’s chin with a careful finger, he pulled the smaller man’s face to his. “Call me Ryoma, the Stranger.” Smiling, their mouths met again. 

Souji fought to pull Ryoma’s clothing from his body, but the man pinned him. Helpless, he moaned as the man kissed down his neck and sucked at his collarbone. “Ryoma, please . . .” He tugged and pushed, trying to get some space between them. 

Ryoma released Souji’s hands, only to remove his shirt. The scoop neck collar, while convenient, just made things more difficult. He smiled as goosebumps freckled the boy’s skin, then bit at one of the pink nipples exposed to the air. Souji moaned, and pulled at the dreadlocks against his chest. 

The man was thorough, nipping, sucking his way along Souji’s thin frame. In the hot shuffle of clothing and sighs, Souji began to lose focus, instead turning attention to the hot mouth on his body and the teasing fingers on his thighs. He dared to undress the strong man. Opening his shirt . . . loosening his belt. 

Ryoma smiled and bit lightly at Souji’s neck before lifting the boy, pinning him to the wall, and then thrusted inside him slowly. Souji held on tightly to the man’s shoulders and hair, and groaned at the friction. It had been awhile since he felt this kind of abuse. He bit his lip to keep quiet, but purred into each rocking motion. 

. . . 

4 AM, and he was still awake. Ryoma snored lightly beside him, tangled in the mandala printed fabric and knit yarn throw. Souji stared at the ceiling, trying to find what was missing. Images of their hot, hasty passion ran through his thoughts. The sound of the stranger ramming inside of him, the taste of the man’s thighs, and that clove cigarette kiss. Was this what he really wanted? 

. . . 

A night turned into a weekend, and a weekend turned into a few weeks. Before he knew it, Souji was listening to tales of wild men and women, nudist colonies, and the multiple problems with modern day philosophy and tradition. Each country had their own standards, all of which were pocketed with corruption and greed.

Another slam into the mattress and a groan of satisfaction. Souji breathed heavily, trying to catch his breath as he clawed his way down Ryoma’s back. He hated these stories. All they did was make him feel disconnected with the world. Only when he felt that warm, gentle touch did he feel grounded. In the present.

“Ryoma,” Souji began, reaching up toward the man’s face, glinting with sweat in the heat of the loft. 

“Again, Souji?” the man chuckled, kissing at the boy’s cheek. “I may be young, but even a high school kid couldn’t satisfy you.” He disengaged and flopped onto the bed. “Give me a few more minutes, and I’ll rock your world.” He winked at the smaller man, and closed his eyes shortly after. 

Work. School. An Interview. A temp job later, and they were in the shower, fighting for friction and dominance in the small, cramped space. Ryoma bent the boy over the counter, and Souji counted the thrusts. Trying not to focus on the damn crucifix hanging on the wall. At 50, the pace changed, and they slid roughly to the floor. 87 and the room began to spin, and he lost count around 120. 

. . . 

_“Souji, what do you think of the world today?”_

Souji could hear him at work. That dry, husky voice over a room of fragrant smoke. He stared at Kondo as he spoke to a tall man, of about 40. They must have been there for lunch. Business, jokes for misogynists, and women. 

“You still haven’t found yourself a good woman, Toshi?” Kondo beamed over a glass of sake. “I need to start setting you up more often.” 

Souji giggled at the annoyance on the other man’s face, and found himself thinking of home. Home turned into suggestion as the man picked up a glass. The tendons and structure of the man’s fingertips . . . 

“Hey, beautiful!” Ryoma grinned, leaning over the counter, kissing Souji on the cheek. “When do you get out of here? I’m dying to tell you about my new idea . . .” 

Souji nodded, but he couldn’t take his eyes off those strong, muscular hands. 

. . . 

“Ah! Ryoma!” Souji cried as he came, spilling onto his lover’s stomach and chest. Ryoma groaned, grinding into his own release as he held Souji’s legs over his shoulders. He slowly lowered the boy back onto the floor. The man had traded his bed for a traditional futon, another recent change. Souji coughed as Ryoma lit a cherry cigarette, and struggled to catch his breath. 

“You really put your all into that one, Souji,” Ryoma beamed over his shoulder. “I thought I was a goner when you went down on me. You’ve got quite the mouth on you, you know that?” 

Souji didn’t answer, but stared at the smoke as it made its way to the ceiling. It filtered out the motivational poster in French, and ghosted along the ceiling. 

“And the way you moved today . . . I hope you’re not cheating on me. It’s like you’ve been practicing!” Ryoma laughed and continued to talk. 

That’s all he did. That’s all he ever did. 

. . . 

“Souji, you did Kendo, right?” 

Souji lounged on the futon, wrapped in a white sheet. “Yes. I have been practicing since I was very young.” 

“No wonder you have such a great body.” Pages flipping through a dissertation or textbook. Souji didn’t care. “Do you consider yourself a samurai?” 

Souji stopped and looked at Ryoma. “A samurai?” A bit indignant and hurt, “Why would you ask me something like that?” 

“Whoah, whoah. Slow down. I wasn’t trying to start anything. It’s just an honest question, okay?” 

Souji looked away and crossed his arms, burying his face in the sex scented sheets. 

“I just wondered if that happened to change the way you think about men at all, or your own masculinity.” Ryoma looked over at him. Was he actually trying to make conversation? 

“My masculinity?” 

“Yes. You seem pretty comfortable with yourself, but do you ever run into trouble with the ‘samurai’ or ‘masculine’ culture of Japan?” 

Those hands. That mouth. That new voice at the café. 

“No. I haven’t. Why?” 

“Well, I decided that I should write about these things, you know? I mean, I have done so much, and I’ve seen the world. I think Japan would be a much better place if the gender lines blurred themselves a bit more, you know?” 

“The gender lines blurred themselves? You’ve been to Akihabara, haven’t you?” Souji stood, dropping the sheet, and began to pull on his clothes. 

“Not like that. I mean socially.” 

“I think there are other things to worry about than whether or not men or women are comfortable with themselves, Ryoma. I don’t have time for this.” 

“It’s an important question. Don’t you see? The samurai culture even reflects on business! Tomorrow, I have a shot to interview _Kondo Isami_! He’s notorious for promoting the masculine ideology at the workplace!” 

Souji stopped listening and made his way toward the door. He smiled softly over his shoulder and laughed. “Ryoma,” He walked back into the room and gave the man a gentle, but deep kiss. “You’ll know a samurai when you see one, and I guarantee you,” he pulled away. The expression darkened on his face, “They’ll be more of a man than you will ever be.” 

Ryoma watched as Souji left, baffled by the sudden emptiness of the room. He knew what it meant, though – tonight, he would be alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that neither Souji's nor Ryoma's statements are intended to spark a political debate, nor do they reflect my political opinions. I intended this argument to be the final point of frustration for Souji in their relationship, nothing more.


End file.
